


now it's just me and a mirror (can't tell if i'm really here)

by chxrrywhine



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 08:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chxrrywhine/pseuds/chxrrywhine
Summary: Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sammy thinks, okay. This is kind of unfair.Seriously.One normal night. One motherfucking normal night in this town is all he’s asking for.





	now it's just me and a mirror (can't tell if i'm really here)

**Author's Note:**

> this is set after the end of ep. 93. i haven't listened to the rest of the episodes yet but i was doing homework this evening and had a Mighty Need so here ya go, here's the fic absolutely no one asked for !!!
> 
> unbeta'd. title is taken from "welcome to the end of your life" by the driver era!

Troy takes every turn like his car was made for speed. Like there’s not a siren strapped to the roof of his car, like he wouldn’t pull anyone else over for going thirty over the speed limit. It’d almost be funny if everything weren’t so dire, if Sammy wasn’t so sure he’d been about to die less than an hour ago. As it is, nothing is funny at all. Every move, every bump in the road sends pain rippling across Sammy’s body. His ribs are broken, he knows, but its nothing too serious. Doesn’t come close to comparing to that time at the bar back in junior year of college, so he’s good. He doesn’t need a hospital. Or maybe he does, but he’s not going to waste his time going.

He casts a glance in the backseat at Ben. Ben, who is texting furiously. Ben, whose face is contorted in rage or pain or fear or an unholy mixture of all three. His hands are shaking but he doesn’t even seem to notice it, fingers flying over the screen, making little noises in the back of his throat as more text messages come in.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sammy thinks, _okay. This is kind of unfair._

Seriously.

One normal night. One mother_fucking _normal night in this town is all he’s asking for. Just one. But that’s not the thought at the forefront of his mind. Nor is the pain in his ribs, or the furtive glances Troy keeps sneaking his direction. What’s on his mind isn’t even a what so much as it is a who. Or two whos.

He knows Ben would tell him if something was wrong, knows the girls booked it to the secret place and are currently hunkering down waiting for them, but Sammy’s no idiot. Sammy knows how quickly it is to disappear in this town. He feels restless, feels the anxiety breathing down his spine like a dragon. Wonders if there are or ever have been dragons in King Falls. Wonders if Kingsie is the closest thing to a dragon they’ll ever have. Probably not, with their track record.

He’s tired. He’s so damn tired, weary to the marrow. He wants Troy to go faster, and, almost as if he can read his thoughts (or maybe he just knows him too well), Troy presses harder on the accelerator. He slows when he reaches the junkyard at the edge of town, casts a wary glance at the chain link fence and the BEWARE, DOG signs posted around the perimeter.

“Y’all sure this is where you want me to drop you off?” He asks. It’s the first thing he’s said the entire drive, the first thing any of them have said. It breaks the silence like glass on concrete.

Ben answers first. “We’re sure, Troy.” He slips his phone in his pocket and ducks out of the car door, only wincing faintly when he moves wrong. “Get home. Lock up, okay? You and Loretta stay safe.”

Troy nods, doesn’t say anything else, thoughts already on his wife, on what the hell he’s going to do next, on how to keep the citizens of this crazy town safe when he can only see half of the chess board. Maybe less than that. Sammy knows the feeling. He claps Troy on the shoulder, doesn’t try to talk because it would hurt like hell to do so, and slides out of the car with an arm thrown across Ben’s shoulders. There are bruises on Ben’s arms, visible in the low light surrounding the property, and God only knows how many bruises and wounds are hiding underneath his shirt. Sammy almost feels sick with the not knowing, with the helplessness of the moment. But then he takes a deep breath, beats the feeling back, because now is not the time for that.

They watch Troy pull out of the parking lot, wait till his brake lights are out of sight and it feels too much like a goodbye. Too much like they’re etching the sight to the whites of their eyes, like they’re snapping a picture or painting a portrait, freezing a moment in time before old age wears away at vibrant youth.

Then Troy’s lights round the corner and they’re alone again.

Ben draws himself cautiously, slowly from underneath Sammy’s arm and turns to him. He holds his hands around him without touching him, like he thinks Sammy might tip over without his support. It’s not an entirely inaccurate assumption but adrenaline is one hell of a drug.

“I’m fine, Ben,” Sammy says. Even his voice sounds tired. He doesn’t know how he’s made it this far, but he knows he won’t be able to rest until the girls are in sight. Until Emily and Lily are by his side, near him, around him. He’s not picky.

Ben doesn’t look convinced but he nods once, sharp. “Can you make it to the car?”

Sammy sets off toward the vehicle in answer. His steps are slow and lumbering but steady. The Honda sets at the back of the chain link fence, at the edge of the junkyard, under a thin, blue tarp. It’d been Ben’s idea to stash it here, to share Sammy’s car and keep a getaway car at the edge of town; a halfway point between King Falls and the safe house. Ben drags the tarp from the vehicle, bends down behind the front left tire for the spare key and unlocks the doors. He checks to make sure their go bags are still in the trunk as Sammy sits down in the passenger seat, barely managing to choke back the groan threatening to spill from his lips. Ben’s head snaps to look at him like he heard it anyway.

“Sammy—”

“Just drive, Ben. Please.”

He should offer to drive. Should offer to be the voice of reason, to be the voice that says, yeah, this was bad but we’re still ahead if only just by a hair. He should ask Ben how he’s feeling. He should make some sort of attempt to tend to the abrasions of Ben’s face where the earth scraped it raw when he fell in their haste to escape. Instead, he doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t do anything.

Not because he doesn’t want to. Not because he doesn’t care, because oh, does he care. He cares so much, loves Ben so much it almost blinds him. But at this point, his whole world has narrowed down to two things: staying alert and getting to the girls. Everything else—his body, his best friend, the mortal terror and the implications of tonight’s events—will have to wait. Just a little while longer.

The highway is quiet but that’s not surprising. No one’s going to be coming into or leaving King Falls at this hour anyway. Ben makes an aborted move toward the radio, stops, and runs the hand through his hair. He’s restless too, all anxious fidgeting and deep breaths that almost sound like gasps. It sounds painful, wretched. What a pair they make, Sammy thinks, as he looks out the window and tries not to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Ben takes the next exit ramp, takes this turn, and that until he’s trundling onto the streets of suburbia in all its middle-class glory. His lips move as he whispers the names of the subdivisions until he finds theirs. Sammy sits up in his seat and his breath catches in his throat. Not from the pain but from anticipation. Anxiety. Bone-deep panic. The feeling is contagious. Ben mutters to himself, reading off house numbers and street signs, making frustrated little noises like its impossible they’re not there yet even though they just pulled into the subdivision. When Sammy puts a hand on Ben’s knee, Ben settles immediately. Takes a deep breath. Refocuses.

_248…246…242…_

There. 240 Winter Oak Lane.

Emily’s car sits in the driveway; a small, white Ford Focus, looking as unassuming as it can be. Looking like it belongs there in the cookie cutter framework of soccer mom vans and white-picket fences. Looking like it hadn’t held a woman kidnapped by paranormal beings and the most dangerous book in existence in its interior only an hour ago.

The house itself is bright and inviting; all pristine white vinyl siding and red shutters that almost glow in the moonlight. It doesn’t look like the kind of place you’d hold all the secrets of the universe.

Sammy wonders if he should feel bad; after all, the house had been his idea and he’d had just enough in his savings to put down the deposit and first three month’s rent. But the people… The people of this street, of this town have no idea the chaos and wreckage they’ve brought into their lives just by being there. Just by existing.

There is a pink bike sitting on the front lawn next door with training wheels on the back wheels and playset in the backyard of the neighbors across the street and Sammy decides that, yes, he should feel bad. Prays that he’s not going to be responsible for any blood on his hands. Resolves that they’re going to figure this out, solve this somehow, or die trying.

That last one is becoming more and more likely than he likes to think about.

But then the lights flicker on and Emily’s face peaks through the curtains, and Sammy’s not sure who moves first but before he knows it, he and Ben are stumbling to the front door. Lily swings it open just as they step onto the front porch, and the first thing she says is, “Holy shit.”

There’s a flurry of hands grasping shirts. Of tentative hugs exchanged and wounded noises as Emily fumbles to tend to Ben and Sammy. And it’s—

Their injuries are bad but not life-threatening. Sammy’s ribs are a deep, mottled purple, swollen and, now that he’s back in the presence of his girls and is starting to think and feel more clearly again, damn near unbearable. Lily looks angry when she sees him, sick like his pain is hurting her too, but smirks just for the pretense when he catches her gaze. He doesn’t call her on it. Everyone needs their armor and she’s not fooling anyone anyway.

“Kind of reminds me of that bar fight in junior year,” she says, nodding at his chest, and it’s not funny. It’s not even close to funny, but Sammy is sad and scared and relieved and this close to breaking, so he laughs. He laughs like he’s never laughed before, like it’s a drug he wants to choke on. And then, one by one, they’re laughing with him. Emily sets the bottle of antiseptic down on the floor where she’s knelt down in front of Ben and brings her shaking hands up to her face, laughing and sobbing into her hands. They’re cackling, loud and raucous and grating, and it feels like the moment right before the final buzzer, when the other team is so far ahead there’s nothing left to do but laugh and say, _okay, sure, better luck next time, I guess._

Their laughter tapers off only to start up again when Lily and Ben lock eyes, and it hurts. Everything hurts in more ways than one, Sammy’s ribs are on fire and his soul, oh, his soul is nothing more than pulp is his hands, but it also feels like breathing. Like releasing something into the air and watching it float away on the wind, gone, gone, never to be seen again.

When they finally stop and Emily picks up the bottle of antiseptic again, Lily sits down beside Sammy on the floor and slumps into his side. He wraps his arm around her shoulders though it tugs at his wounds, though it makes him gasp. He can feel the rapid thump of her heartbeat against his arm and he pulls her in closer. Ben kicks out a leg and nudges Sammy’s shin with his foot, and, when Emily is finished with one side of Ben’s face, she sits cross-legged between him and Sammy while she works on the other, making sure her knees are touching both of them.

Sammy tips his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, the rapid ebb of adrenaline having taken up residence in the twists of his veins and the sinews of his muscles. He can feel every point of contact, is hyperaware of everywhere his people are touching him, could recognize them each by touch alone even if he hadn’t watched them all weave together. Could recognize the fierce love in Ben’s light, almost subconscious taps against his leg. Could recognize the quiet strength in Emily, steady and unmoving, and the steely protective fury in the way Lily’s fingers around his shirt, holding him impossibly closer like she can’t even help it, like she’d rather die than let go.

They’re bonded, he thinks. Come hell or high water, come death or victory, they will always have this. They will always _be_ this. Together. A unit. A family.

He won’t remember falling asleep. He’ll wake up tomorrow in pain and agony that’s not entirely physical, enraged to the point of near suffocation, but for now, in this moment, Sammy takes a deep breath and lets himself rest.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have tumblr/twitter anymore but here i am if anyone wants to drop me a line *finger guns*
> 
> EDIT 9/9/20: i once again have a twitter acc :// find me @chxrrywhine <3


End file.
